A Decadent Way to Die: A Savannah Reid Mystery

by G. A. McKevett

  Tammy giggled and walked away. She was always smart enough to know when to make a graceful exit.

  “I tripped over it,” Dirk protested. “It was an accident!”

  “I know. And I forgave you for the accident. But lying to me, blaming in on poor little Cleopatra—who’s an indoor kitty—that I’ll hold against you till the day I die.”

  “Apparently so. Sheezzz.”

  After locking the electric heater in Dirk’s trunk, the three checked the shed by the chicken coop, looking for the missing shovel.

  Dirk was clearly eager to leave the area as soon as possible. So eager, in fact, that Tammy’s curiosity was piqued.

  “This phobia thing you’ve got about chickens,” she asked him as they headed in the direction of Waldo’s cottage, “does it have anything to do with that awful cock-fighting ring we busted some time back?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he replied. “That’s it. That’s when it started.”

  Savannah nudged him with her elbow. “And you wonder why nobody trusts you?”

  “Nobody trusts me?”

  “Nobody who actually knows you.”

  “That’s cold, girl.”

  “Okay, I trust you a little. But only because I’m a sucker for a cute ass.”

  “You think I have a cute ass?”

  “Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head. We’d all have to start calling you butt head, and I don’t want that sort of immature talk going on at the office.”

  “Of course not.”

  As they approached Waldo’s house, they could see a building behind it that was too small to be a garage.

  “His car’s still gone,” Dirk said. “When I told Helene I couldn’t find him here on the property, she said he’s often gone all night.”

  “Doing what?” Savannah asked.

  “She was a bit vague about that. Deliberately avoided the question.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out trying to score one of his recreational substances. Emma told me that’s pretty much his main pastime—doing the drugs or looking for his next high.”

  “Sad way to live a life,” Tammy commented.

  Her cell phone beeped again. She pulled it from her pocket and looked at her latest text with a look of dread on her face.

  It occurred to Savannah that jumping every time your phone rang was a pretty sad way to live a life, too. And it took all of the fine, Christian, Southern upbringing that Granny had given her for her not to curse Chad the Cad and wish he would fall down a flight of steep stairs into a pit of rabid crocodiles.

  Just regular crocs will do, she decided with all the charitable kindness she could muster.

  Tammy texted something back, and Savannah wondered if there was any point at all in suggesting that interacting with a fool was foolhardy.

  Probably not.

  Savannah had realized long ago, that was something a woman had to learn on her own … the hard way. And it was heartbreaking to see how long and how hard that way had to be in most cases. When it comes to matters of the heart, Savannah thought, these processes take time.

  And as she watched her beautiful young friend, so full of life and love … so trusting that both life and love would bring her only good things … she hoped that hard road wouldn’t be too long or too rough for her.

  “These are the only outbuildings that Tiago mentioned?” Dirk asked as they approached Waldo’s shed.

  Savannah nodded. “The only ones where they store tools—the garage, the one behind the spa, the one near the chicken coop, and this one.”

  “So, if we don’t find that shovel here,” Tammy said, “it’s God-knows-where.”

  “Yeah.” Savannah sighed. “Then we start looking in bushes and the Dumpster for it. Unless the garbage service has collected the trash since Helene’s cliff accident.”

  “One can always hope,” Dirk said. “I’m dedicated to my work and all that hooey, but whenever possible, I avoid Dumpster diving. Kitty litter, wet coffee grounds, and rotten potato peels …” He shuddered.

  “And this one would probably have chicken coop scrapings in it, too,” Savannah added, grinning at him.

  “Shut up.”

  “Okay.”

  When they reached the small shed, they found the door was secured with a padlock.

  “What’s ol’ Waldo got in there that he needs to hide from the world?” Dirk said.

  “More like from his grandma,” Savannah replied. “With that big fence around the property, I can’t imagine they get a lot of unwanted visitors.”

  Savannah was already rummaging in her purse. A moment later, she produced her lock pick.

  Dirk gave her a look.

  “What?” she said. “Helene gave me permission to search her property. If you don’t want to see this, Detective Sergeant Coulter, avert your eyes.”

  “Hell, no. I’m gonna watch. You’re way better at that lock picking business than I am, and I’m always trying to figure out why.”

  He didn’t learn much, because Savannah had the lock opened in five seconds.

  “Some women knit while they watch their soap operas. I practice picking locks.” She shrugged and grinned. “Hey, for a while there I was totally hooked on General Hospital.”

  She opened the door, and they stepped inside.

  This shed was a bit larger than the one by the spa, and that was a good thing, because it was overflowing with junk.

  “This is the least organized, dirtiest place I’ve yet to see on this property,” Savannah remarked as she looked up and down the teetering stacks of magazines, bags of old clothes, and boxes overflowing with discarded computer equipment, CDs, and the occasional piece of drug paraphernalia. “The rest of the estate is neat as a pin … though I never could figure out what was so gall darned neat about a pin.”

  “Expensive looking bong.” Tammy pointed to a large piece of fanciful, colorful blown glass … a marijuana bong with a broken stem.

  “Hey, spare no expensive for your favorite vices,” Savannah said. “That’s why I put only the best chocolate and ice cream on my backside.”

  “High brow reading material here.” Dirk held up a handful of porn magazines, mixed with some periodicals promoting the cannabis culture.

  “How old is Waldo?” Tammy asked.

  Savannah replied, “Old enough to have moved on.”

  Tammy moved a big, empty cardboard box that, according to the logo printed on its side, had contained a large, flat-screen television. Pushing it aside, she peeked behind it and said, “Hey! I think I’ve got a shovel here!”

  “Don’t touch it!” Savannah said. “And let’s get a picture of it first, hidden behind the box.”

  “Any good defense attorney would say the box was just set in front of it,” Dirk replied.

  “Not if we prove he used the shovel a few days ago and bought the TV last summer.”

  “Good point.”

  Savannah pulled a small digital camera from her purse and snapped several photos of the box and the hidden shovel. Putting the camera away, she grabbed a couple of the disposable gloves that she always carried in her pocketbook and handed them to Tammy.

  “You found the evidence—or, at least, we hope it’s evidence—so you can retrieve it,” she told her.

  It did Savannah’s heart good to see the wide grin on Tammy’s face as she donned the gloves, then reached behind the box to get the shovel.

  Until Tammy had met Chad, she lived for her work. Investigation and everything remotely related to it was Tammy’s chosen career, and had been since she’d been a child. All little girls might go through a Nancy Drew period, while growing up, but Tammy Hart had never outgrown the dream. And there was no happier person on the planet than someone who was living their childhood fantasy.

  Until she meets a controlling numbskull, who hijacks her life, Savannah thought as Tammy’s cell phone chimed once again. What’s that been, thirty texts in the past two hours?

  Once Tammy had the shovel out of its hidin
g place, Savannah said, “Hold it up here. I want to see its blade.”

  Tammy tilted it, bringing the business end of the tool even with Savannah’s face.

  There it was. The flat blade, which proved it was a spade, not a shovel, as Tiago had described. And better yet, there was the damaged corner.

  “It’s chipped, just like Tiago said,” she told them. “He explained that he’d broken it trying to dig a rock out of the ground for Helene.”

  “So, this is definitely the shovel that Tiago claims went missing?” Dirk asked.

  “I’m sure it is,” Savannah said. “And the fact that it was obviously hidden, and in a locked shed, points a finger right at He-lene’s favorite great-nephew.”

  Dirk was still looking, moving boxes aside, searching inside miscellaneous jars and cans. “Bingo,” he said, showing them the contents of an old, wooden, cigar box. Inside were at least a dozen tiny glassine envelopes containing white powder.

  “Waldo’s cocaine stash,” Tammy said. “That’s got to be helpful.”

  “Oh, it will be,” Dirk said. “This means, as soon as I lay hands on our man Waldo, I can hang on to him as long as I want.”

  “It’s going to break Helene’s heart,” Savannah said softly.

  Dirk sighed and nodded. “Something tells me this guy’s going to be a source of heartbreak for a long, long time … for everybody that loves him.”

  Chapter 15

  While Dirk and Tammy properly packaged, labeled, and stowed the spade and cocaine evidence in the Buick’s trunk, Savannah decided to take a stroll to the main house and see if she could find Emma.

  She hadn’t spoken to her since last night’s tragic activities, and Savannah wanted to find out how Helene was doing.

  As Savannah approached the front of the mansion, she saw Emma standing behind her BMW, putting an overnight bag into the trunk.

  When she opened the driver’s door and started to get inside, Savannah called out to her. “Hey, Emma. Got a minute?”

  Emma tossed her handbag onto the passenger’s seat, then closed the car door and walked over to Savannah. “Sure,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay. Can we sit a spell?”

  Emma motioned to a couple of comfortable chairs in the shade of a large, leafy oak tree. They strolled over to the chairs and sat down.

  “I saw you throw your bag in the back of your car,” Savannah said. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I figured I’d go back home.”

  “Oh, really? So soon?”

  “Well, the main reason for me coming over here was to keep an eye on Oma, but your friends, Ryan and John, are doing a good job of that.”

  “I’m sure they are, but …”

  Emma shrugged and looked a little sheepish. “Kyd called me, and he really wants me to come home. He misses me. He’s not good at being on his own.”

  When Savannah didn’t reply, Emma added, “He’s just so crazy about me, adores me, you know. Can’t stand it when we’re apart even for a second. It’s really true, true love. Soul-mate stuff.”

  Sounds more like having a giant, parasitic, bloodsucking tick on your butt, Savannah thought. But she decided to keep her opinions to herself. Something told her that Emma wouldn’t appreciate her observations about soul mates who couldn’t allow you a moment to yourself.

  “Kyd hated going to his gig without me last night,” Emma continued, as Savannah tried to picture what a giant tick with spiked hair and a Poison Nails logo on its back would look like. “Sometimes, I go along to offer support and also to keep an eye on him. You know how those groupies are … always after the musicians … throwing their panties at them … stuff like that.”

  Savannah shrugged. “Can’t say that I understand that. Don’t see the point in hurling your bloomers at a guy unless you’re in them.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Emma asked. She crossed one leg over the other and toyed with the lace of her sneaker.

  “Waldo.”

  “Oh, must we?” She sighed and slouched in her chair, like a five-year-old protesting the fact that she had to eat a beet and liver sandwich.

  “You don’t like him much, do you?” Savannah commented.

  “No. I really don’t.”

  “Would you tell me why?”

  “Because he’s a spoiled little brat who takes everyone and everything around him for granted and always has.”

  Savannah nodded. “That’s upfront and honest. Thank you.”

  “Waldo was pretty much raised here, too, you know. Just like I was. Oma took better care of him than Ada did. He had all this given to him.” She waved an arm, encompassing the gracious mansion, the lush, sweeping grounds. “Even back when Ada was married, she and her husband would drop Waldo off here for months at a time, when they were globe hopping, or even when they just didn’t want a kid around.”

  Savannah thought it over for a couple of moments, then said, “That might lead a kid to feel pretty rotten about himself, fancy digs or no.”

  “Oma made up for it. She showered him with love and attention. Anything he didn’t get from his mother, he more than got from my grandmother. She gave him everything he ever wanted. Still does.”

  Seeing Emma’s bright green eyes flash and her pretty face contort with anger, it occurred to Savannah that Emma and Waldo had a bit of pseudo–sibling rivalry going on. And it appeared to be a pretty intense battle … at least on Emma’s side of the chess board.

  “How does Waldo support himself?” she asked.

  “Stealing money from Oma’s purse every time her back’s turned. Begging from his mother. Oh, and dealing dope.”

  Savannah thought of the bindles of cocaine in the shed. “A lot of it?”

  “Enough to support his habit. He keeps getting arrested. Oma spends a fortune on attorneys to keep him out of jail. He’s off to rehab for a while … again, at my grandmother’s expense … and then the cycle repeats itself.”

  “Why doesn’t Ada pay for all the legal bills and rehab, since he’s her kid?”

  “Ada doesn’t have any money. She spends it all on plastic surgery and toys to keep her boys happy.”

  “Boys? She has more than Vern?”

  “Please. She has more boyfriends than shoes. Apparently, when you’re Ada, it takes a lot of stud service to keep your mind off the fact you’re not as young as you used to be.”

  “Has anybody told her about Vern yet?”

  “Not that I know of. I didn’t call her. I don’t think my grandmother did.”

  Savannah was pretty sure Dirk hadn’t. The last she’d heard, Dirk had the gal at the station trying to track down Vern’s next of kin. And it was proving to be a challenge, considering that he gave out false addresses and changed aliases more often than he did his socks.

  She made a mental note to talk to Ada and see how broken up she was, or wasn’t, about losing this great, or mediocre, love of her life.

  “We can’t find Waldo,” Savannah told her. “We looked in his house, around the property, in his shed. Couldn’t find him anywhere.”

  “He leaves without saying anything to anybody. That’s nothing new. He goes into Hollywood, cruises around until he scores.”

  “Drugs … sex …?”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  “Any particular places he goes?”

  “There’s a bar on Sunset in West Hollywood called Rattlesnake Tom’s. He hangs out there a lot.”

  “And you say he doesn’t have any sort of job?”

  “Not unless you call getting high and playing video games a career.”

  “Does he ever do any work around the estate here? Digging, for instance?”

  “Digging? You mean, like with a shovel?”

  “Exactly.”

  Emma sniffed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Waldo never used any kind of tool or did an hour’s work in his life.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “I saw him yesterday afternoon, as soon as I go
t here. I was pulling into the garage and nearly ran over him.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “He said he was looking for his boom box … the one he likes to listen to when he’s outside. He accused me of taking it, sweetheart that he is. Like I’d want the ratty old thing.”

  “His boom box?” Savannah’s mood lifted considerably. All of a sudden, the flower gardens around them seemed more colorful, the birds’ songs sounded sweeter, the sun shone brighter. “And did he find it?”

  “Don’t know. I didn’t hang around to find out. That was the last time I saw him, and if I don’t run into him again soon, that’s fine with me. I avoid Waldo as much as possible. Everyone does.”

  Except Dirk, Savannah thought. If Dirk’s anxious to get his hands on him now, just wait till he hears about this!

  After Savannah sent Emma on her way, she gave Dirk a call. “You guys still messing with that shovel and dope?” she asked him.

  “Just finishing up,” he replied. “The stuff from the shed tested positive for cocaine. What are you up to?”

  “I had a conversation with Emma. She told me Waldo hangs out at Rattlesnake Tom’s, a bar on Sunset in West Hollywood.”

  “I know the place,” he said. “A real spit-on-the-floor dive. I’ll call Hollywood, and see if they can send somebody over there to pick him up for me.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure the HPD has nothing better to do than to run that little errand for you. And if they nab him, see if they’ll drag him back to San Carmelita for you, too.”

  “Brothers in blue, banding together in the never-ending search for law and order.”

  “Uh-huh. Be sure and use that phrase when you talk to them, too. I’m sure it’ll go a long way.” She walked up to the door and rang the bell. “I’m going to see if I can talk to Helene before I leave. Make sure she’s okay.”

  “Gotcha. Me and the kid, we’ll meet you back at the cars.”

  “Bye.”

  The door opened, and Ryan was standing there, looking immaculate, as always, in a pale blue shirt and navy slacks.

  “Hi,” he said, holding the door open for her. “How’s it going out there?”

  “We found the spade,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It was in Waldo’s shed.”